


Ordinary

by LuxObscura



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxObscura/pseuds/LuxObscura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wherein John and Greg are both ordinary and it suits them just down to the ground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary

**Author's Note:**

> An anonymous Tumblr prompter asked for some John/Greg, so I did a little thing. Archived here for completeness and posterity. Not beta'd or Britpicked. If I've made any glaring errors please feel free to msg me.

The thing about Lestrade is that he’s ordinary. Not “ordinary” in the way Sherlock uses it — boring, pedestrian, dull, unintelligent, small-minded — but ordinary in a way that is comforting. Thinking about Lestrade invokes the smell of chip oil, the taste of a good pint of lager, the feel of sticky bar top, the rush of cheering for Arsenal (or against United) in a pub packed with fans. 

John runs his hands across smooth shoulders, sparsely-haired chest, down a torso still tanned but gone a bit soft with age and too many pints. Greg catches John’s lips with his teeth and savages John’s mouth with nips and hard, sucking kisses.

"Fucking gorgeous, John. Fucking perfect, it’s like you were made to fit me."

John grinds his arse down against Greg’s hips, feeling hot and prickly and stretched with Greg’s cock flush inside him. ”If you — Christ, fuck — are making a short joke I will kill you.”

"Fuck, whatever you want just let me come before you do. Fuck, fuck do that again.” 

John circles his hips once, twice and then lifts up, the slow, slick slide of Greg’s cock pulling at him from the inside, leaving him feeling empty but for the burning stretch just at his entrance. John holds himself there, legs trembling with effort as Greg clutches at his hips, hard enough that there will be bruises.

Greg tries to push up, to get back to the tight, hot home that is John Watson but John holds himself just out of reach. Greg gets a leg between John’s and uses the purchase on his hips to flip John and drive himself home. John laughs but the sound becomes a high whine, a howl as Greg slams up and in, knocking the bed against the wall time and time again until finally everything draws in and down to the root of his cock before exploding outward. Greg has enough awareness to feel John’s body twitching around his softening prick, feels wetness spooling out between their bodies and then he collapses against soft, pliant John, both of them panting in tandem.

When the pounding hearts slow and the rushing blood abates John nuzzles gently into the soft space under Greg’s jaw, smelling sweat and smoke and beer. ”Pub tonight? City’s playing United. Should be good for a riot.” 

Greg chuckles. John’s a closet hooligan in a lumpy wool jumper — anyone who tries to start trouble with him in the pub gets a nasty surprise. Greg has a lot of practice in not noticing in any official capacity what John does to blokes spoiling for a fight.

"Yeah, all right." Greg smiles fondly against John’s hair.

"Five more minutes," John mouths against his neck. 

"Yeah," says Greg, thinking about sweat-slicked skin and pounding hearts as he laces his fingers through John’s. "Five more minutes."


End file.
